


Fear For Your Loved Ones

by coffeeshopangel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Death, Panic Attacks, and really not at all sure about whether or not i like it, but it has a happy ending, in other news i finally finished this, wooooooooooooo and my cousin finally editted it and now i'm posting it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeshopangel/pseuds/coffeeshopangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s beautiful.” Stiles breathed.</p><p>“I agree,” Derek murmured, snaking a hand around Stiles’ waist, “but I’m not talking about the scenery.”</p><p>Stiles glanced up at Derek, brown eyes conveying confusion and Derek would not in any way ever come to regret his next words, no matter how corny he sounded. With Stiles curled into Derek’s unnatural warmth, glistening, pure snowflakes melting in his dark hair and an easy smile curving his features, Derek murmured, “I meant you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear For Your Loved Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be up last week (oops) but I've finally finished it and my brilliant, amazing, wonderful, absolutely loved cousin (who sadly doesn't have an AO3 but is in dire need of one) beta'd it for me. Also; I wrote this while watching the first season so I know very little about Stiles' mom other than she passed and Stiles carries too much guilt regarding that so please excuse me if I got facts wrong on that front. In other news, I can continue writing a merthur one I started too long ago :)

**Fear For Your Loved Ones**

The place had an open radiance about it; an honest and endless beauty weaved through hills of shocking white, curled around quaint little towns with smoke being whisked out of tiny chimneys, into the darkening atmosphere above. The elegant charm reminded Derek of a painting, one he never had the optimism or time to understand. He had always thought the world was full of bad, and maybe it was, but standing atop the mountain, gazing into the glittering canyon below him, he thought that the world couldn’t be _all_ bad.

A form shifted to his right and Derek ripped his cloudy grey eyes from the sight laid out in front of him - he felt like a starving man at a feast, being told not to eat, however, Derek was starved for peace _,_ serenity and the snow covered ground that surrounded him was the tantalizing buffet.

“Derek.” His voice was no higher than a whisper, the smallest breeze in a blizzard that had enveloped Derek’s entire life, acting as a breath of fresh air. It worked like a light bulb, a glowing beacon at the end of a lingering storm that seemed never ending – and Derek found himself gravitating towards the light, the sliver of warmth it exuded, seeming to slice through the bullshit and pain revolving around his life in a continuous cycle. “Are you alright?”

Derek could smell the emotion flowing from his questioner, worry that clouded the searing pain and emptiness. It made Derek’s heart ache; the very smell of such strong emotions directed towards such a brash, inconsiderate creature as himself.

“I’m fine,” Derek turned, “but I believe it should be me asking you that, Stiles.”

Chocolate brown eyes bore into his own grey ones, assessing his face for the faintest freckle of emotion that would contradict his answer. Finding none, Stiles nodded to himself once and tore his gaze from Derek, focusing it instead on the picturesque beauty laid beneath them.

“It’s beautiful.” Stiles breathed.

“I agree,” Derek murmured, snaking a hand around Stiles’ waist, “but I’m not talking about the scenery.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, brown eyes conveying confusion and Derek would not in any way ever come to regret his next words, no matter how corny he sounded. With Stiles curled into Derek’s unnatural warmth, glistening, pure snowflakes melting in his dark hair and an easy smile curving his features, Derek murmured, “I meant you.”

For once in Stiles’ life – words failed him. Derek could feel the emotions, the blood, the very heat flowing through Stiles’ veins beneath the too-large winter jacket he had wrestled Stiles into. Color flooded Stiles’ cold-flushed cheeks, smattering a shade of enticing pink across his cold nipped nose. Derek drank in the sight until Stiles turned his face into the frozen lapels of his signature leather jacket, away from the fierce cold air sinking around them.

Derek held Stiles as the sun sunk behind the snow covered ground ~~s~~ and stars began twinkling overhead. Somewhere between twilightfalling around them and sucking the sun’s light away, Stiles began crying. It was light at first, delicately subdued and Derek knew Stiles was trying to hide it from him, trying to stop the tears from staining broken leather and freezing to his sanguine cheeks.

“Time to go home,” Derek hummed into Stiles hair. He felt Stiles’ bob of head before losing all contact with the phosphorescent glow that thawed the ice coating ~~s~~ enclosing his hand-me-down heart.

“You’re right.” Stiles sniffled in response, wiping at his eyes furiously – like he was angered by his body’s natural reaction to emotional compromise. Derek reached out to grab Stiles’ wrists gently, pulling them back down to their proper sides before entwining one of his hands in Stiles’.

They walked in silence, Derek not knowing what to say and Stiles remaining in a reticent state; the total opposite of his normal affliction of being physically incapable of shutting up. It was the insistent babble, appalling puns and protective sarcasm in which Derek first found solace from the hell he had labeled his life. But now his cherished tranquility was heaved upside down, as Stiles’ reserved sullenness lingered throughout their walk, the comfort Derek found in the other man’s voice ripped from beneath his feet like a rug in need of cleaning; leaving Derek on his ass and gasping for air, for a word, for _anything_.

It was only when Derek realized that Stiles was shuddering beneath his layers that the blanketed, uncomfortable silence was broken.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, pulling them both to a halt and spinning Stiles to face him, “Stiles? Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, I think so.” Stiles managed, brown eyes a puddle of confused desperation and Derek could hear his heart rate accelerate to an alarming pace, “I think I must be a little tired, is all.”

Stiles’ voice shook; the tremors wracking his body were visible beneath his winter apparel, accompanied by a wave of shocking nausea. Derek could smell fear – heavy and dangerous lingering in the air between them.

“Fuck it,” Derek murmured to the world encircling them before swiping Stiles off his feet and taking off through the trees at full speed.

Using his senses to guide him, Derek focused on the frail, broken human in his arms. Stiles sucked in air, as if he had been drowning in the sea and tears had begun their salty descent down the sandy expanse of his cheeks. He was clutching at his stomach absentmindedly, moaning incoherent phrases that Derek could only partially decipher.

“I-I can’t lose h-him,” Stiles sobbed, eyelids slipping shut to manifest only the pale lavender color of the lids of his eyes.

Derek pumped his legs even harder, his own breathing coming in easily compared to Stiles’ jagged gasps.

“ _Please_ , _”_ Stiles begged, too lost in his own nightmare to hear Derek’s tightly strained repetition of his name, “You already took my mother, not him too.”

Realization dawned on Derek – the anniversary of his mother’s death, Stiles’ impromptu vacation plans, and his quiet reservation.

“I love him, please, no, no, NO!”

Derek felt absolutely lost – he remembered feeling like this once before; he had wandered away from his family during a picnic in the woods, exploring further and further into a maze of trees until the only sounds he could hear were the trees rustling. He had cried that day, feelings of isolation and despair creating a pool around him until his parents had finally found him _._ After they returned home, Derek hadn’t left his bed for three days, terrified that those feelings had pursued him and were waiting for him just outside the nest of blankets. The next time he felt so absent was the fire.

He was ripped out of his reverie by a shattered wail and a sudden bout of thrashing against his chest.

_“Please, kill me instead – I can’t lose him. Please, not Derek. Anybody but Derek.”_

Derek arrested the drop in his heart, blinked against the tears stinging his eyelids and exerted as much self control as he could muster to keep from ripping whatever thing that was threatening Stiles, _his_ Stiles, limb from limb. He fought his emotions the entire sprint home, straining against his wolf instincts to protect the preciously delicate figure cradled against his chest.

Sidling into a proper position to pry open the door to their cabin, Derek shoved at the doorknob unceremoniously until he heard the click of collapsing deadbolts and the wooden paneling swung free revealing the stereotypical tourist chalet. There were dying embers in the stone fireplace, oranges contrasting vividly against the charred and broken ashes – Derek willed away the nostalgia threatening to bubble over at the sight, unbidden, tortured screams forcing their way into Derek’s carefully guarded mind. Steeling himself against the emotional attack, Derek kicked the door shut with the back of his boot. Carefully, he laid Stiles on one of the overstuffed couches and stripping him of his jacket and boots and threw them into the corner inelegantly. He then proceeded to wet a facecloth, ringing out the excess water and knelt down beside Stiles’ panic-ridden form.

“Hey, Stiles, babe,” Derek tried; praying to whatever God existed that this would help calm Stiles’ anxiety, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

As he spoke, Derek wiped the sweat beads from Stiles’ forehead with the cloth tenderly.

“Do you remember the first time we met? In the forest, when you and Scott had trespassed onto my property? Before that day, I had always relished in the feeling that being frightening brought me; comfort and a sense of identity, but then I smelled the fear and deviance exuding from your mind and I suddenly found my form to be… displeasing. I didn’t want to scare you – you and your innocent, clean mind and broken heart buried beneath mountains of dry humor.” Derek took a deep breath, assessing Stiles’ condition before continuing. His story seemed to have a calming effect on Stiles, as his breathing eased into a monotone of inhales and exhales.

“I’m ashamed to admit that, despite my best intentions, I didn’t know how else to act, so I continued my act – but you saw right through it, you saw right through the bullshit and the mask and the threats I could never carry out. I realized this too late to stop it – somehow the silly little boy from the woods had wormed his way under my armor and into my heart. The first time we kissed, I was so afraid, so fucking afraid that I had lost you. There had been so much blood, so fucking much and I-I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t know why, I didn’t _understand_ with perfect clarity until that moment,” Derek closed his eyes, forcing away the images of Stiles’ broken body.

 “Somewhere along the line, you had become too precious for me to lose. When you got out of the hospital, I disappeared – I couldn’t face you, not after what I thought I had done. I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying but I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I was the one who had caused it. But I couldn’t stay away from you – the need to know you were safe controlled all of my willpower and every night when you were fast asleep I watched over you. Then one day Scott came to me; ranting and raving about my treacherous and murderous tendencies and _how dare I do that to Stiles_. Somewhere, hidden within my shields a spark of hope fluttered to life and I couldn’t stay away. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such happiness that I did when you agreed to see a movie with me. My life had been so fucked up before you…”

Derek thought about his next words carefully, not realizing until that moment all Stiles’ very presence did to him, did _for_ him, “That I didn’t recall the feeling of happiness until you. You saved me from my own monsters without even knowing it and I responded by falling in love with you. I love you, Stiles. I love how you can defy a direct order if you don’t agree with it and I love your loyalty to your friends. I love your excessive chatter, no matter how many times I tell you to shut up. I love you and I can’t lose you. I _can’t_.”

“You won’t.”

Derek flung his eyes open to find Stiles’ cinnamon orbs staring into his face – an unreadable expression mapped across his features.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Derek murmured and Stiles surged off the couch to kiss him. It was tender and chaste, a press of lips that screamed _I love you_ in every way and Derek drowned in the feeling – the ringing in his ears, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but most of all, the scrape of Stiles’ hands stroking his neck.

They broke apart, Stiles slumping back onto the pillows, gaze refusing to leave Derek’s face.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, perplexed a few minutes later, “I remember feeling sick and dizzy, and then everything went black and next thing I know, I’m on the couch with my werewolf-boyfriend confessing his undying love to me.”

Derek shot Stiles an unheated glare and received a cheeky grin in response.

“You had an anxiety attack,” Derek explained, “an extremely severe one from what I could tell. I didn’t know how else to get you to snap out of it. I think it was the stress of the day that caused it.”

The mere thought of Stiles’ suffering had a mixture of emotions rushing through Derek’s veins seeking vengeance, yet feeling the need to comfort.

Stiles remained silent for an undetermined amount of time, while Derek returned to wiping Stiles’ forehead with the damp cloth.

“I still remember her,” Stiles confessed and Derek darted his eyes over Stiles face, unsurprised to find Stiles’ attention fixed on the ceiling, “most people don’t realize that. Or maybe they do and act like I don’t. I don’t know, but I do remember her. I remember her making me chicken noodle soup whenever I caught a cold and how her curls would frame her face in a way that made her eyes even more beautiful. I remember her helping me with a drawing after I finished all my homework and how she’d greet my dad with a kiss every single day. She was beautiful.”

Stiles took a shuddering breath, “And she died because I wanted a fucking Popsicle.”

Stiles covered his face with his hands and Derek pried them away gently.

“Your mother didn’t die because of you. You weren’t the man behind the wheel of the car that hit her,”

“No, but-,”

“Stiles,” Derek barked sharply, provoking an imploring chocolate brown gaze to bore into his own, “it wasn’t your fault and you couldn’t have done anything to stop it. But you know something? If she were here, I know she’d be proud of you – you’re smart and funny and you’re the most loyal person I have ever met, and she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for something that _wasn’t your fault_.”

“I was with her when she died, you know?” Stiles began, voice softer than silk, “She was so broken on the bed, and I could barely hear her when she talked but I stayed. Dad was searching for the man who had put her there, believing the doctors when they told him she’d be fine but somehow, some part of me knew differently. The last thing she ever said to me was, _‘take care of him Stiles, baby, and always remember this: I love you._ ’”

Tears leaked precariously from the corners of Stiles’ eyes, before Derek arrested their movements with a swipe of cloth. “The last thing my mom ever said to me was _‘don’t get into any trouble today, hon. Love you!’_ before school the day of the fire and I had left rolling my eyes because I was a teenager, I was a werewolf, I was practically invincible. You have nothing to blame yourself for, Stiles, I promise you that. You didn’t tell the man – who had a vendetta against your family – that your mom was going out that night and you didn’t know what was going to happen. _It’s not your fault and it never will be_.”

Slowly, Stiles nodded and Derek sighed, kissing his forehead quickly before lifting himself off his knees and tossing the facecloth into their bathroom sink. When he returned to the living room, Stiles was poking at the dying embers half heartedly, muttering under his breath about how electric heat was so much easier to use.

“You want me to do that?” Derek asked, stopping directly behind Stiles’ crouched form.

Stiles shot a sour look at him over his shoulder and Derek grinned, easily.

 Neither mentioned how Derek had sewn Stiles back together, from the shredded mess he had once tried so hard to hide. Neither mentioned how Derek curled Stiles’ body against his own a little more tightly than usual when they lay curled in bed. Neither mentioned how badly Derek’s life depended on Stiles or how much he was willing to give up, to keep Stiles safe. Words weren’t necessary, and silence was their precaution – for what the world didn’t know couldn’t hurt them and the silent agreement was sealed with a kiss, that the world would never find out. 


End file.
